I'm told that in ancient times a
titanic collision of continental landmasses pushed up the
Pennsylvania Appalachians, fracturing their peaks as a sheet of
glass being bent to breaking. More recently, three
distinct glaciations repeatedly froze and thawed the water embedded
within, breaking mountain-sized rocks into small shards, many with
razor-sharp edges. "Where boots go to die", said National Geographic
magazine in describing this stretch, and some have hinted that the
PA trail clubs go out at night with files to sharpen them. Whatever
their source, these rocks are the distinctive of northern PA. After
soliciting some trail reports we're told that the snow has mostly
melted, and shouldn't be a problem. This almost proves true.

3/16 Port Clinton-Windsor Furnace Shelter (6.1
miles)

"What the wise do in the beginning, fools do
in the end." Warren Buffett

Today is Coleen's day to
be right. It starts on the drive to Port Clinton as she predicts
we'll need pack covers, despite my optimism. It continues as our
hike begins, as she insists we're going the wrong way (even
though I have the map). After traversing the railroad yard,
we start up the hill behind, and soon I have to admit my
error. Another look at the map finds we should be across the river,
so we backtrack to the car and resume our trek, this time in the
correct direction. We cross the Schuylkill River and follow its
east bank through the small quaint town - the river running well
above its banks in silent might.

After passing under the
noisy Rt 61 bridge we begin our typical first climb - the rain's
hard enough that jackets stay on, but sleeves are rolled up as we
sweat our way up. The trail's beginning is surprisingly easy - much
of it a road walk, and quite level. The rain's coming down at a good
clip, and often the streams have overflowed their usual
courses to form a torrent running right down the center of the trail
- the path of least resistance. We pick our way around it, passing
through the Hamburg Borough Watershed, full of signs indicating that
camping is absolutely prohibited (often placed over the many
well-used campsites).

Looking lost in the rail yard

Passing Windsor
Furnace, a few foundations remain from the
furnace itself, with two ponds, one of them frozen. The shelter's
just a few minutes past - a welcome sight on this soggy day. It's
clean with timbers sealed with the standard PA
white mortar, and a rickety picnic table pushed inside. It's great to
be under roof, though it's raining too hard out for a fire,
and the shelter register's just been replaced, so we can't catch up
on old friends. We do find an entry from one thru-hiker well ahead -
Brian, who's racing through for an Apr. finish, and after dinner
& hot drinks, we turn in to the sound of falling rain at
9:00.

3/17 Windsor Furnace - Allentown Trail Club shelter
(16.5 miles)

"Life is like a dogsled team. If you
ain't the lead dog, the scenery never changes."Lewis Grizzard

After a good night's sleep, we're up at first light, a
light rain falling as we're out by an incredible 7:07.
Climbing Pulpit Rock returns us to our familiar eerie cocoon
within the clouds. It's easy trail, with occasional rocks, our
next landmark being the Pinnacle, called by our guidebook "the most
spectacular vista along the AT in PA". Perhaps if we had more
than 50 yards visibility, but not today, this fog becoming the
norm lately for our spectacular vistas. As we trudge down a long road
walk with a shallow snow cover, I consider
unrolling my Thermarest to sled down, though the sharp embedded
rocks urge caution. Other than one day-hiker, there's naught of
interest until our lunch break at Eckville shelter - an unusual one
indeed.

Another "breathtaking vista"

The first fully-enclosed shelter I've seen on the AT, Eckville is a former
garage behind the caretaker's home, with 6 bunks, a chaise lounge, books, magazines, and registers (one photo
collection), tap water, a cold-water shower, a fridge stocked in season, and dream of dreams - an electric light.
All is lacks is heat, so after perusing the registers (the photo one is great - now we know the faces of many
we've read - Belcher, Puck, even Jackrabbit & Isis - the barefoot southbound girls) we make coffee with lunch, and
hurry back to the forest trail. Back on the ridge line we pass Dan's Pulpit (named for Rev Danny Hoch, who
conducted Sunday services here), and thence Balance Rocks. Here's a massive boulder pile - a difficult traverse
in good weather, but downright treacherous in the rain, so we gingerly climb out just enough to get a view of the
sight itself. It's far inferior to our VA equivalent, so back to the trail, our rock ballet continuing for some
distance. Just as we settle onto what appears our final road walk for the day, the path diverges off to the left,
up through yet another rock field - particularly annoying as it seems the smooth road we'd left parallels just to
our right.

Our pace must be good
however, as we reach the Allentown Hiking Club shelter a few minutes
early, expecting a good shelter (it was only built in 1997), and it
doesn't disappoint. It's immaculate and well provided, with bunks
and a stone fireplace, and several register comments imploring us to
see (and smell) the privy. I make some vain attempts at
fire-building with the soaked wood, even trying the stove's burner
for ignition without success. It's just as well though, since the
rain never lets up for long, and after hanging our wet clothes up to
dry, we climb onto our bunks at 8:30, occasional glimpses of the
lights below appearing between clouds as we nod off.

3/18 Allentown shelter - Palmerton Borough Hall
(17.7 miles)

"When we are satisfied with a little;
enough is a feast." Amish saying

Overnight the
weather changes abruptly, the rain replaced by a mighty wind. It's stout
enough to force me get up (a freezing proposition), pulling our pack
covers and such inside so they won't blow away. Coleen's cold after
the wind rises, and a little relieved when I wake her at first
light. It's 28F and blustery out, our water bag frozen around the
edges, and after breakfast we pack quickly; though I do take a trip
down to the privy to see its splendor, with a mirror, walnut seat,
and even a flush handle (for fun). We get out early again, finding
the sunny cold morning invigorating, though there's considerable
snow over our initial roadwalk.

1st privy we've seen that smelled
better than us

Today's first landmark is
the precipitous "Knife Edge", a thin spine of rock whose top we
clamber across for a ways, followed by Bear Rocks, where we see a
number of weekenders atop. We resume our snowy and icy road walk,
although it's quickly eclipsed by the climb over the rock slide at
Bake Oven Knob, whose difficulty is considerably increased by
deep snow filling the crevices between the sharp
rocks.

The fight against the rocks is an exercise in
endurance, and a cold, plain, colorless one at that - a struggle
utterly without glory. In the lofty mountains of NC or NH we can
look back and see the fruits of our labor, often with an
overlook displaying not only our personal struggle, but often the
peaks and valleys of several states. Here are no 3000' climbs - just
3000 climbs of a foot each - the foot goes up on the rock, the foot
comes down from the rock, repeated over and over ad nauseum. We slowly
amble across the knob, stopping soon after for lunch at the Bake
Oven shelter.

It's a filthy shelter, with trash all about -
obviously too near a road. We
quickly return to the ridge line, but here - on the north face of
the ridge - a roaring north wind pummels us as we cross huge drifts
of snow piled every few yards across the open terrain. Now it's
work, and Coleen wears quickly under the strain and cold, so at the
first sheltered area we stop for a break to restore her sagging
spirits. We're buoyed by the prospect of a town night in Palmerton,
though Coleen's still worried about our ability to get a hitch.
Spirits improve a bit as the trail crosses to the south face out of
the wind, eventually descending on a rock field to the Lehigh River.
It's a beautiful gap, with the famous climb north from Palmerton
clearly visible ahead (though it's easy to
imagine this being a little slice of hell on a 100F day in the
blazing sun). Crossing the bridge, we need our hoods to keep the
wind from blowing our caps into the river; but in a few minutes
we're in position for our hitch.

Ten minutes later our
salvation comes - an electrician's van bound the other way, but kind
enough to turn about. The driver asks our destination, giving an
arresting stare to my reply - "the jailhouse". I explain that the
city's been kind enough to lodge hikers there for many years,
an explanation that seems to satisfy, and we're off in search of a
jail. After asking some bystanders, we end up at the
Police station, where a minor search finds a security monitor and
intercom. The officer seems familiar with the program, meeting us at
the Borough Hall 100 yards east. Here he exhausts all his keys
trying to gain entry, although a 2nd trip to his office brings
success. He shows us around, finding a phone, coke machine,
bathrooms, gym, showers, and a room downstairs with bunks around the
periphery, and a Cub Scout craft project occupying the floor. We're
the 1st hikers of the season here, and he apologizes for all not
being in readiness, but we're in heaven.

The "Knife Edge" - yep, the
AT goes right over the top

Did I mention there were rocks?

After wonderful hot showers, we find our
best clothes and cross the street to Bert's for dinner.
Palmerton's a quintessential small PA mining town (pop 5394),
economically depressed, but full of people of great hospitality. So
we find at Bert's, a typical small-town café where the waitresses
know all their patrons and are accustomed to hikers the likes of
ourselves. Dining on steak, shrimp, and the requisite sundaes,
we strike up a conversation with the folks at the next table about
the town's history. We'd known this was the site of an EPA Superfund
cleanup - the aftermath of massive pollution from the zinc-smelting
plants that eventually killed even the grass in town. One of the
town's features is Marshall Hill - a steep brown hill utterly devoid
of vegetation topped by the Marshall mansion - so stark as to
resemble a horror film set. In similar fashion, the mountains we'll
climb tomorrow are a rocky wasteland more typical to a moonscape
than an Appalachian ridgeline. In 1982 the EPA began the cleanup
process though, and gradually nature is beginning to recapture its
landscape. It was a nice chat, and we all departed, full of town
food and local folklore. Back at the jailhouse, we have a little
coffee, peruse the register, hanging our wet clothes in the boiler
room to dry, and retiring at 9:00.

3/19 Palmerton - Leroy Smith shelter (15.8
miles)

Thank God man cannot as yet fly; and lay
waste to the sky as well as the earth.Henry David
Thoreau

We're up at 6:20 after a good night's sleep, and
in view of the 'late' start elect to have breakfast here rather than
Bert's. The folks soon file in upstairs to open up, and we take a
second to thank them for their hospitality before heading
out. As the town comes to life, we walk a couple blocks down Main
Street past the park to a good hitching spot. It's such a pleasant
morning, and as we approach the edge of town our thumbs go out, a
pickup pulling over immediately. The driver's very familiar with
hikers, and a few minutes later we're out at the trailhead for this
unusual climb.

Palmerton Borough Hall - more hostel
than jailhouse

Starting up the south
face, the vegetation quickly gives way to rocks and boulders, soon
resembling the desert wasteland we'd expected – a scene right out of
Dante's Inferno. It's an other-worldly appearance, and the climb
becomes increasingly technical near the top. Eventually it requires
hands and feet, although it's easy enough on dry rocks, and
comfortable in the am sun until we top the knife-edged summit. As
soon as we hit the top, the north wind roars across, and in the
blink of an eye, it's a whole new hike. Still a beautifully clear
(if blustery) day, the wind abates slightly as we pull away from the
knife edge, climbing a rocky slope. The
the path becomes a roadwalk, but even so, the ridge is devoid of
vegetation, and any trees larger than scrub are downed and utterly
void of life. This moonscape continues for miles, although the
overlooks across the valley are majestic. The ridge is covered by
occasional deep drifts of snow, although in the cool of the morning
they're still hard frozen, and we easily walk over their tops
(unlike some poor hiker that preceded us, often sinking to knee
level).

Eventually the forest reclaims the ridge, though as
we walk we soon hear the sound of a P.A. off to our left, along
with some shrieking voices as well. Our map solves the mystery
- it's the Blue Mt ski resort, and were it a little later, we'd be
tempted to pop in for lunch. In the afternoon the snow increases to
well over a foot's depth, and worse - it thaws until we no longer fly
over the tops of the frozen drifts, but collapse through with every
step. Our shoes and socks are soon soaked, and our toes feel like
they've finished a casting call for the movie 'Titanic'. It's tough
and depressing trudge, especially out front, and I even have Coleen
lead a bit to give me a break. There is one bright spot as Coleen
spots a porcupine just a couple feet off to the trail's side,
gnawing on a tree. As soon as we stop to catch his picture, he
scurries up the tree, in no time reaching a safe 30' above us.
Still, other than flushing out a few quail, he's the only wildlife
we see (plenty of deer tracks though).

It's a relief to reach
the shelter road, finding it an older, but clean shelter, the
caretaker having been up just a few days prior. It's in great shape,
with one of the new solar composting privies like Allentown's. As
we're collecting firewood and water, V's of geese fly
over - we're beneath a major flyway, and they'll continue to
entertain us honking over throughout the afternoon tomorrow.
Again, we've the shelter to ourselves,
and as the campfire dies we turn in with a beautiful view of the city lights below at
9:00.

3/20 Leroy Smith - Delaware Water Gap (21.4
miles)

"And the world, will be better for this:
That one man, scorned and covered with scars;Still strove,
with his last ounce of courageTo reach …the unreachable star…
"Joe Darion, The Impossible Dream (Man of La
Mancha)

Climbing out of Lehigh Gap the bare
rocky terrain reminds us of the Rocky Mountains

Atop the ridge, the wasteland
resembles a post-nuclear holocaust

Coleen wakes me to a
beautiful sunrise, and after breakfast (augmented today with corned
beef hash), we're off at 7:15. There's lots of snow, though still
frozen enough that we cruise effortlessly over the top crust, a
feeling magnified by the 12"-18" deep tracks of some poor hiker
preceding us. It's fun gliding across the snow in this manner, and
we make time, knowing it'll be otherwise in the afternoon. The
poorly marked trail is punctuated only by occasional overlooks, and
soon we descend to the busy Wind Gap, where it's a mere tenth mile
or so to the Gateway Motel. Here there's a water tap and a broken soda
machine, but we purchase a couple of the latter from the
desk along with a refill of our water bottles, and after a short
break, we're back afoot.

It's a slow climb out of the
gap, soon reaching the ridgeline, where the deep snow besets us
again; and as it warms we're sinking in once again.
We're entertained for a bit by the sounds of a light plane doing
aerobatics above, but all attempts at sighting him fail, and I have
to extrapolate his maneuvers from the sounds.

I've
considered finishing tonight for the last couple days, but I've kept
it to myself, with Coleen still planning on stopping at Kirkland
shelter. As we trudge on though, she mentions the possibility of
making it to the car tonight, feeling a bit ambivalent. I offer some
pro's & con's, insisting it's her choice, although she knows my
preference. During our lunch break (on a
pair of logs someone has laid as a seat across a pair of boulders),
we find the plastic bags we've wrapped about our socks haven't
helped - our socks are soaked, and the bags keep retreating into our
shoes.

We forge on through the featureless trail, passing
Wolf Rocks, where one final rock scramble reminds us we're still in
PA, and shortly after we come to a huge pile of short animal hair,
accompanied by what appears to be a deer skull and a single bone
(looks like a deer was very effectively devoured by some carnivore).
The snow depth decreases a bit as the afternoon goes on, reaching
the Kirkland shelter at 3:30.

Shortly before arriving there
we'd passed a couple of teen boys planning to stay, and as
we're taking our pm break they return. They look singularly
unprepared for the night, with no previous AT experience, and
as we'll find later, no cooking gear - only cold food. They do have
plenty of that though, offering us a piece of key lime cheesecake;
and we fill them in on some of the particulars of shelter life.
We haven't heard any
weather, but the stiff east wind and advancing clouds portend a raw
and soggy day; and with the wind blowing right into the front of the
dirty shelter (lots of mice evident) Coleen quickly concludes that
onward is our best course.

The guys are gone as we leave,
but a few minutes later we find them at a hang-glider launch site at
Nelson's Overlook just down the trail. A couple of hang-gliders are
here, and one is about to take off, so we wait a few minutes for him
before departing. Finally finding the wind he's seeking, he zooms
ahead into the abyss and immediately is propelled high above us. In
seconds he's well down the ridgeline out of sight, so we continue,
the trail easing a bit from here. We soon pass Totts Gap, followed
by a long roadwalk down the ridge.

In the morning we "fly" over the
hard-frozen snow, but in the afternoon we'll be the ones
leaving those deep tracks.

Flocks of geese soar
across, and I'd like to get a pix in the fading light, although the
tree limbs overhead make it difficult. I hear another V coming our
way, and as I stop to get out the camera, a glider comes flying by
just off to our right, soaring silently only a mere 100' away. As we
marvel at his silent passage, another comes following him, this one
no more than 50' above the trees. It's an awesome spectacle, but
they don't come back, and the light fades as the clouds roll in.
We reach a park at Mount Minsi at the east end of
the ridge, but we've no time to linger, with dark coming and the
car still far away.

The descent now starts in earnest,
tougher than imagined, as the volume of foot traffic here has
converted the snow pack into ice, which covers and surrounds all the
steps and rocks on the steep path down. I'm still amazed neither
of us took a fall, and before long, Coleen's using
the headlamp in the rear, with me carrying her Maglite forward. It
takes far longer than imagined, but we soon get a glimpse of traffic
below crossing the Delaware, restoring hope that the end is near.
Winding around above the river I catch a quick look at a fleeing
deer (only one we've seen all week), and soon the path intersects a
macadam road, leading to a parking lot. After a little confusion, we
identify the roads that wind through town to the bridge across the Delaware. It's a long
walk across, the footbridge swaying surprisingly as each semi goes
by only a few feet away, but we're both beat and glad to be this
near the voyage's end. It's unbelievable ecstasy to reach the car,
where we throw in the packs and hit the road, beating a hasty path
to food and home.

First hang-glider we've seen on the
AT - this guy got great lift and was propelled out of sight
instantly.

Epilogue

Finally, 5 days after
our start, it's my day to be right - all night as we drive home the
wind rises and the rain becomes a torrent. Tomorrow the rain and raw
winds will continue throughout the day, making us reluctant to go
outside even to get the mail. The 21.4 mile day has been was arduous
indeed, but we're sure glad now to watch the storm rage from the
comfort of home. We'll stop and smell the roses next
month.